They Come in Your Sleep
by Jakyoku the Wicked
Summary: "Actually, Lucien did not try to recruit me. Not at first. He tried to kill me. My father wanted me dead, and he hired the Dark Brotherhood to do it. I escaped from Lucien, and paid my father back for his treachery." How I think Telaendril joined the DB.


_"Actually, Lucien did not try to recruit me. Not at first. He tried to kill me. My father wanted me dead, and he hired the Dark Brotherhood to do it. I escaped from Lucien, and paid my father back for his treachery. Lucien came to me again that night with an offer I just couldn't refuse."_

Telaendril thought back to those days, ah, those pitiful days. Dark, cold, and draining. For others. She was quite the downer in those days, always inquiring things best left alone. Things from secluded corners. For instance, "Father, where is mother?"

Curiously, she never did get an answer. She had been on her way to report that miserable man. She was going straight to the imperial city with what little money she had, and she was going to spend it wisely. The young bosmer was determined; justice would be paid and she would see to it herself.

But even determined teenagers needed food and sleep. On her way to the Imperial City, she stopped at a small, ramshackle little inn. The Inn of Ill Omen. It so perfectly suited what she would bring to her father.

The man at the counter was very kind to her, he even gave her a small discount on the room so that she could afford her meal and still sleep in the room. Perhaps it was her age, perhaps the massive nord was impressed by the tiny little bosmer. She would not be surprised, actually, she was quite impressed herself.

She had come a long way.

Before she went to sleep, she took several precautions. Her bow, taken from a bandit foolish enough to attack her from the front, was lain quietly beneath her bed. Safe. Secure. The few arrows she had had been tucked away in a quiver on the opposite side of the room. She wasn't expecting much anyways; it wasn't as though her father knew she was gone. After all, she had only come to visit when she found what he had done to her mother.

The bastard would pay; she would make sure of that.

"Soon," she murmured as she tied her hair into a small bun at the nape of her neck. "Soon, soon, soon…"

And so she let herself drift into a quiet, weary slumber. She dreamt nothing, for she had long since given up on dreams. They were useless. She had no use for such trivial matters—a trifle, really. Just what happened when imagination was allowed to run wild, and she, oh, Telaendril was not about to let her imagination free of her grasp. It would remain in its reins, where it belonged.

The sudden clicking of a dagger from a sheath caused her tired eyes to open. "What…"

"Hello, child," a voice greeted—almost cordially. It was an imperial's voice: strong, thick, and soothing. It beckoned her forth. She imbibed the image of the man, a tall imperial with his dagger drawn, beard only slightly unshaven, eyes twinkling with delight.

A sickening, disgusting delight.

"Who—" she began.

"I am your killer."

And the dagger nearly sunk into her leg. He was going to kill her, and slowly, it seemed. Suddenly, her eyes grew wide. Her father knew she would not take kindly to her mother's murder. He knew! He knew! He knew! Reflex had guided her leg to safety, but, weary from sleep, she found removing herself from the bed a near impossible task, stumbling and writhing through the blankets until she crashed down upon the assassin, taking him with her.

The knife dug into her left calf; she wailed in pain but kept struggling. She would _not_ die here. She would escape; she would!

Her bow. It was right there, right within her grasp, but no arrows. None at all! She had been too short-sighted to leave them with her bow.

But she would improvise. As she grasped the glossy green weapon, she threw her arm forward, only to catch it on the man's dagger. She kicked and pushed until she freed herself of the blanket, leaving her to crawl backwards away from the murderer.

"Who sent you?" she demanded furiously. Rage ignited in her eyes; she knew the answer, she knew she knew the answer!

The man saw this and smiled. "Your father."

She gritted her teeth as she lunged forward, injury forgotten for now. She smacked the man with the bow, nearly shattering the light-weight weapon. For a wood elf, for a teenage girl, no less, she was shockingly strong. The man's jaw might have been dislocated—this was no time to consider the damage she had done!

Forget it. From then on out, no guards. Telaendril would handle things on her own. She stumbled backwards, limping slightly. The adrenaline caused the pain from her wound to lessen for now, but she did not want to imagine what would happen if she could not leave this room.

She would take the man down with this one arrow. She snatched her arrows from the doorknob and took her aim. From there it would be easy.

She shot the arrow through the man's shoulder. For good measure, she took another arrow and shot it through his foot. He would be stuck there for a while.

"You little—" he roared, eyes flaring with rage.

Of course he was angry. A tiny little bosmer just outdid him. A tiny little amateur bosmer with no experience holding a bow, mind you.

But now was no time for silly pride. Just fleeing.

So she ran. She left everything except the clothes on her back and the bow in her hand, and the quiver for her arrows. She ran outside.

A guard. On a horse. A forester.

And he was asleep.

She shot him off of his horse and hopped on.

ooOoo

"Hello, father."

The man's eyes snapped open and Telaendril smiled. He was surprised to see her alive, she could imagine. "You killed mother, and now you tried to kill me."

"Y-you don't understand, Telaelae," her father tried, using a childhood nickname. She only smiled. Her eyes twinkled: black as night, illuminated by tiny specks of moonlight.

"I understand, father."

And she shot an arrow through his head. But that wasn't enough for her. She ripped the arrow out—never mind the fact that he was still alive, begging for her to stop, but she dropped the bow and drove it into his hand. Into his other hand. Into his foot. Into his gut. Each time she ripped it out, she reveled in the bloodshed.

She was doing what that assassin would have done to her. Nothing more, really, nothing less.

Next was his lung. The man was almost dead, but, as Telaendril put it, voice oozing with treacle, "I only want to give my daddy everything he wanted to give to me. The least he can do is wait for it to happen."

And she drove the arrow into his heart.

"Goodbye, father."

ooOoo

Finding a place to sleep had been irritating. Having slaughtered her father in his home, she struggled to remember where he kept the bedrolls, and was frustrated to remember that his bed had just become his death bed. She should have kicked him out so she would have a more comfortable place to sleep.

But that hardly mattered. She lifted one of the floorboards, and— "Here we are."

Pulling the bedroll from the floorboard, she laid it out and went to sleep.

ooOoo

"You're not a very sound sleeper, are you?"

It was that imperial again. Telaendril shot up, stumbling back and nearly striking her head against the wall. "You—I thought I…"

"You don't think you killed me, do you?"

She stared up at him. She was unarmed, but he did not draw his own dagger. Great, so he was going to beat her to death. That sounded _so_ much better.

"I'm not here to kill you," the man informed her quietly.

She blinked.

"There is no reward from a man who has already been killed," the imperial explained dully. "Shame, it was quite a nice price."

"So why are you here?"

"Your work has pleased the Night Mother. I would like to know, child," the man murmured, leaning down to her level. "Would you like a new family?"

A smile crept upon her lips. "I'm listening."

"My name is Lucien LaChance. You, child, are Telaendril, correct?"

Her new family drew nearer with every word.


End file.
